


Parallels

by stage_master



Category: Dark Knight (2008), Donnie Darko (2001)
Genre: Clown Sex?, Dark, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Rare Pairings, This Is Not Brokeback Mountain, This pairing does not exist, What is my life?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stage_master/pseuds/stage_master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Donnie Darko/Dark Knight crossover story.</p>
<p>Sort of Brokeback Mountain on hallucinogenic drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parallels

 

 

 

Donnie wakes up. His face is damp.

  
  


"Well, I thought sleeping pretty would _never_ wake up."

  
  


He's on a sheet-less mattress, and the wetness running down his cheeks seems to be coming from a leak in the darkness above his head. He turns his head to the left and is unsurprised to see a clown in the doorway of the musty room. Donnie smirks.

  
  


"My what a big smile you have."

  
  


The clown's grin bleeds further across his face. His voice is sandpaper and madness.

  
  


"All the better to _eat_ you with, my dear."

  
  


Donnie closes his eyes and laughs.

  
  


 

~*~

  
  


Donnie sits on the cracked counter next to the sink, legs swinging erratically as the clown smears war paint around his perpetually smiling face. Fingers dip into plastic pots of garish grease and Donnie watches the streaks fan across pallid cheeks. The scars climb higher, head turning to take in the nude form slouched next to his mirror, before a spidery hand shoots out and a flash of color appears in the dip of Donnie's collarbone. The fingers crawl higher and wrap around the long column of neck, leaving a redred handprint across the smooth expanse of skin. Donnie tilts his head back, an offering, and laughter echoes creaky and broken around the stark grey space.

  
  


The boy bites his lip and shudders.

  
  


 

~*~

  
  


There's a stain next to his cheek. Donnie tilts his head a little to try and give it a shape as calloused fingers ruffle the soft hairs on his legs, push his thighs wide. Those long fingers pull his ass cheeks apart, wriggle inside and send shockwaves that roll up his arched back and push a moan out of his gasping mouth. His hands fist against the damp and gritty mattress, toes curling as the blunt head of a cock pops through the tight ring of muscle at his entrance, sliding inexorably deeper. Donnie gasps again and buries his burning face into the sweaty crook of his elbow. A broad hand skitters up his spine and wraps around the nape of his neck, squeezing in time with the rabbiting thrusts in and out of his prostrate body. His dick drags across the rough fabric beneath him and he bites at his own flesh, salty and bitter.

  
  


The restraining hand at his neck pushes up into his hair, grabbing a handful and tugging with enough force to bow his back, eyes now blind to the ceiling. Scarred cheek presses to the side of a smooth, unblemished face and the clown's voice falls rusty and growling across Donnie's open mouth.

  
  


" _Scream for me_."

  
  


Donnie screams. And comes.

  
  


~*~

  
  


"Did you have a name? Before?"

  
  


Donnie is curled up next to a scuffed purple shoe, finger tracing the faded brown splashes across the toe. Gloved hands, previously twitching over the boards and wires of plastic destruction spread over the low table, stop abruptly. The boy sucks in a breath and looks up through a curtain of dark eyelashes, hand slowly drawing away from its idle motion before it is seized in the iron grip of a cotton glove. His palm is turned upwards, drawn towards the distant moon of a face above him. A tongue draws a hot wet stripe across his pulse point before lips and teeth descend, sucking the flesh of his wrist into a deep mottled violet. Donnie's eyelids drop, chest rising and falling rapidly in counterpoint to the calm marking. After a last closing of teeth around the sensitive tendons, his arm is released and his head drops to rest on a pinstriped knee.

 

The gloves resume their series of intricate tasks, sorting and stripping and assembling in random patterns that somehow coalesce into crude agents of chaos.

  
  


Donnie touches his sore skin with a secret smile. Without opening his eyes he sighs and rubs cat-like against the thigh under his head.

  
  


"Can I come with you tonight?"

  
  


Donnie feels the laugh before he hears it. It isn't a no.

 


End file.
